


Winter Wonderland

by WingsWithoutStrings



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, I can't follow simple instructions, Irondad Secret Santa 2019, Peter Parker Acts Like a Spider, Peter Parker Can't Thermoregulate, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, in theory, thermoregulation trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21909103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsWithoutStrings/pseuds/WingsWithoutStrings
Summary: Peter's mutated DNA still has a few surprises in store for him. While he's never been especially fond of the cold, his winter break is about to get a whole lot more interesting.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 735
Collections: Iron Dad Secret Santa 2019, MCU Stories





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stark-illustrates](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=stark-illustrates).



> I was given a minimum word count of 1k, I wrote 7k instead. I have no excuse, but you requested the thermoregulation trope and that's exactly what you got. So, after spamming your inbox with anonymous questions for weeks on end, I very much hope you (at least somewhat) enjoy!

“Kid, watch your back!” Tony shouted over the comm. Even with the advanced warning and his spidey sense to drive him forward, he only just managed to hit the ground in time to avoid Captain America’s own shield.

_What was_ wrong _with him today?_

The shield passed clean over him and he forced himself back to his feet even as every muscle in his body protested against. His limbs felt heavy, his movements lethargic in a way he would usually associate with blood loss, but he _knew_ that couldn’t be the case. He’d taken a few more hits than usual this training drill, but he was pretty sure he would have noticed that kind of damage.

He shook out his stiff limbs, not for the first time wondering who had the bright idea to train outside in _November_. Even the heater in his suit couldn’t quite fend off the numbness creeping up through his extremities.

Flexing his fingers to make sure he could still reach the trigger for his webshooters without issue, Peter forced himself back into the thick of it.

There were too many people to keep track of, but Peter’s instincts were yet to guide him wrong.

“ _Close call_ ,” Clint commented, and Peter tried to convince himself the sudden heat in his face was just the sting from the cold. When he looked up to try and spot the archer, he found the roof empty.

Another near miss – this time a non-lethal round from one of the opposing teams’ sharp shooters – reminded him that he was, in effect, standing in the open on an active battlefield.

He fired off a few webs at people he remembered with some certainty were on the opposite team this round. One threw Scott off guard long enough for Sam to press the advantage, but the other missed its target entirely. The margin of error may not have seemed excusable to some, but to Peter who relied on his impeccable aim to keep him airborne in the city, the missed target was enough to make him freeze.

_Focus_ , he told himself. The next web hit its target and he tried to convince himself the miss had been a fluke.

The rest of the session progressed in a similar manner, though it was hard to tell how many of his teammates picked up on his deterioration. Webs didn’t always meet their mark; dodges weren’t always quick enough to avoid blows he should have seen coming a mile away. Small concerns, but they grew harder to ignore as the match dragged on. More than once he found himself zoning out even as he responded to the overwhelming impulse to twist out of the path of opportunistic blows and debris. Thoughts of the warmth provided by insulated walls and central heating became even more enticing when sheets of freezing water began to fall. He couldn’t even bring himself to care when Rhodey managed to tag him. At that point, he was happy for an excuse to sit out of the fight.

_Maybe I should just stick to the side lines for the rest of the match_ , Peter thought absently as a wave of dizziness almost sent him careening into Natasha. Somehow he doubted that would have gone over well for him. Maybe if he could just sit down for a while…maybe if he could just give in and pass out on the couch in the living room for a week or so.

Sam was the only one on the bench when Peter stepped inside the gym. The icy wind still managed to invade the room through the open hangar doors, but it offered more shelter than any of the structures out on the training grounds.

“Thank God,” Sam huffed. “If you’re here, Tony’s bound to come rescue us soon.”

Peter ducked his head but didn’t bother trying to deny it. If the last three games were any indication, Tony invested more effort into keeping Peter out of the _“jail_ ” than he did the rest of their teammates put together.

Sam frowned, though Peter couldn’t immediately determine why. “You okay there? You look a little unsteady.”

Peter realised with some surprise that he was swaying.

“I’m good,” he replied, though he felt anything but. Apparently, it showed because Sam didn’t buy it for a second.

“You take any blows to the head recently?”

“No.”

“Uh huh.”

“I didn’t!”

Peter scrubbed his face and collapsed on the bench beside Sam, suddenly losing confidence in his ability to remain upright. “Just…really tired, I guess.”

“You sure that’s all? I’ve seen you fight sleep deprived plenty of times, it doesn’t normally slow you down much.”

Now Peter thought about it, his sleep schedule hadn’t been half bad this past week. Something in his expression must have given him away, because Sam’s frown deepened.

“I think you should sit the rest of this one out, kid.”

“No! Really, I’m fine. Just needed to sit down for a minute. I’m good to keep going,” Peter insisted. Even though his stomach turned at the very thought, he forced himself back to his feet and tried to ignore the dull ache sending tremors through his muscles. ”Just as soon as we’re back in the game, I’ll…I’ll…”

“Peter?” Sam asked but he sounded far away, as if Peter had submerged his head in water. Come to think of it, he _looked_ far away. The world warped and rippled like the surface of a lake and brought with it a flood of memories of wrestling with a parachute. Fighting the instinct to inhale when he broke the icy skin of the water, forcing down panic when his flailing limbs became ensnared in the fabric, watching the distant light of the moon dim as he sank deeper and deeper anddeeperanddeeperand _deeper_ -

“ _PETER!_ ”

His mask was off. The thought formed before any other, the contrasting warmth made his face sting. Peter blinked as Tony’s face swam into focus ( _but that wasn’t right, it was only an empty suit-_ )

“Mister Stark?” he asked, brow furrowing. “When did you get here?”

Relief flashed across his face, and for the first time Peter noticed Steve standing behind him.

“Is the game over?”

Tony let out a bark of laughter and sat back on his heels- Wait, that couldn’t be right…?

A wave of disorientation crashed over him as he realised he was lying down on a couch in the Compound’s living room despite his brain’s insistence that he’d been standing upright in the gym just a second ago. Sitting up wasn’t a conscious decision so much as a knee-jerk response to the abrupt change in circumstance. Tony’s cursing and restraining hands on his shoulders told him this _may_ not have been the best course of action.

“Take it easy,” Steve instructed. “You could pass out again if you try sitting up too quickly.”

Peter’s face burned, only this time the cold wasn’t to blame.

“Did I get hit or something?” he asked, but already he knew that couldn’t be right. He’d been _inside_ , out of the fight and away from any potential source of danger. Never mind one that could overwhelm his spidey sense.

“Not that I saw. You just…dropped.” Peter couldn’t remember the last time he saw Sam look so concerned.

He made a point of avoiding his eye, forcing himself upright in spite of both Steve and Tony’s protests.

“I _feel_ fine,” he insisted. “Really, Mister Stark! It was probably just a fluke."

Already he could see his teammates were unconvinced. Steve cleared his throat and sent Tony a look as if unsure if it was his place to speak up.

“Even so, maybe you should visit the medical bay. Just to be on the safe side.”

Peter opened his mouth to protest, but Tony cut in before he got the chance.

“I think that’s an excellent idea, Rogers,” he said, staring Peter dead in the eye as if _daring_ him to challenge the decision. Steve appeared to be too stunned for words, staring at the back of Tony’s head as if he’d never in his wildest dreams imagined hearing those words leave his friend’s mouth.

“After all, if you don’t know _why_ it happened, there’s no real guarantee it won’t happen again. Right?”

“But-“

“In fact, considering your primary mode of transport involves you free falling off of skyscrapers, it would be _blatantly irresponsible_ not to seek out the opinion of a medical professional. _Right?_ ”

Peter squirmed when Tony fixed him with a pointed look. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Good. Then we’re in agreement. We’re going to get the nice doctors over in medical to run a whole battery of tests.”

Knowing he wasn’t getting out of this one, Peter hung his head. “Yeah…”

“And you’re keeping your feet firmly on the ground until we get the results back from the lab. That means no patrolling until I say otherwise, understood?”

“Hey!”

“I’m not joking around here, kid. My suits are fast, but I don’t think I could deploy one in time to catch you from a free fall if you suddenly drop like a stone, kid. This is _serious_. You get me?”

“…Okay…”

“Okay?”

“ _Okay_. I won’t go out on patrol.”

“Until I say otherwise?”

He groaned and flopped back on the couch in defeat. If not for the fact that his head felt sort of like it had been stuffed with cotton wool, he may have put up more of a fight. “Fine.”

xxx

Peter couldn't remember how long he'd been walking. Minutes? Hours? At some point the journey from Midtown to Queens changed from a daily inconvenience into a challenge of willpower. Every step he took dragged, the simple act of raising his foot seeming to require every ounce of his strength.

_I've lifted_ buildings _before, but the ten minute walk from the bus stop is too much for me to handle?_

The heavy foot traffic had reduced the snow here to a grey-ish sludge that seeped in through the worn fabric of his trainers. His feet were already too numb to tell the difference, but it occurred to him through the thick fog that they'd be a bitch to dry.

He was seized by a fleeting, almost hysterical desire to tilt his head back and laugh, but the cold burn in his lungs reduced it to a hacking cough.

If his thoughts weren’t jumbled and clouded, perhaps it would have occurred to him to call for help. If the burning desire to prove himself didn’t drive him to take step after agonising step, he might have paused to text Tony. If the cold didn’t make him so numb, if the lethargy allowed him to _think_ beyond that absent longing for warmth and safety.

If, if, _if_.

At some point his footsteps faltered, but by that point he couldn’t even tell if he was heading in the right direction anymore. He must have walked the route a hundred times, but even surrounded by familiar buildings he felt lost.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt truly lost in the city.

Without making a conscious decision, he started to walk again. He knew on some level that he’d never make it to his apartment, but another destination had caught his eye.

It smelled musty inside, though he couldn’t tell if it was the sodden wood floors or the thick layers of dust caking every surface. Already the memories of climbing in through a busted window seemed far away and utterly unimportant.

Inside it felt almost as cold as outside, but the bare and peeling walls blocked out some of the harsh chill.

_It will do_ , a distant part of him decided. Do for _what_ exactly, he couldn’t say.

With no more energy left to fight the impulse, Peter stumbled into the dark.

xxx

May: _Hey gonna be home a little later than I thought tonight. Traffic in this weather is a nightmare. Bus was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. On the upside, I’m bringing home Chinese!!!_

May: _Pete u promised Tony you weren’t going to go on patrol for a while. And missing dinner? Not cool. We’re having a talk when you get home_

Missed call from Aunt May

May: _Peter I’m serious. Apartment. NOW_

Missed call from Aunt May

Missed call from Aunt May

(1) Voicemail from Aunt May:  
 _“I know you never check your voicemail, but clearly texts aren’t cutting it. I’m sorry for freaking out on you, I just realised you left your suit here. Did you decide to spend the night at Ned’s? You know I don’t mind you staying out late, baby, but I still appreciate the heads up. Answer my texts, at least. I was getting worried. Just tell me what time you think you’ll be back, alright?”_

May: _I know I’m blowing up your phone now, but you’re still not answering. It’s still a school night, Pete. Even if it wasn’t, that doesn’t make it okay for you to just drop off the face of the Earth like this._

May: _I don’t need a lot, kiddo. Just let me know you’re safe?_

May: _Please?_

Missed call from Aunt May

May: _Just got off the phone with Ned and he said he hasn’t heard from you since you left school this afternoon???_

May: _This is getting serious now baby where are you_

Missed call from Aunt May

Guy In The Chair: _Hey dude May just called and she’s freaking out_

Guy In The Chair: _Are you on a mission?? She said you left your suit but I know Mr Stark made u spares_

Guy In The Chair: _It’s like 1am dude, you’re normally back by now on school nights_

Missed call from Ned

Guy In The Chair: _I’ve checked the news and I can’t find anything major going down. Where the hell r u dude?!?!_

Missed call from Aunt May

Missed call from Aunt May

Mister Stark: _Okay, kid. You’ve had your fun. Time to drop the emo teen act or whatever the hell is going on and go home before you give your aunt ulcers_

May: _Peter please come home_

xxx

“What’s he doing _here_?”

“If I knew that, do you really think I would have asked you here, Barton?” Tony snapped.

Clint exchanged a look with Sam in the rear mirror. He didn’t even wait for the car to roll to a complete stop before throwing himself out and marching up to the abandoned apartment complex.

“Stark!” Sam yelled, scrambling to catch up while Clint cursed New York parking limits. “We don’t even know what we’re walking into, shouldn’t we-“

“The kid’s in there,” Tony cut in without stopping. “No one’s been able to get ahold of him for hours. He’s in a shady abandoned building with no heating in the _dead of winter_. We’re going in there is what we’re fucking doing.”

Already recognising that there was little point in picking a fight with Stark in his current state, Bucky followed close behind. With his help, they got the boards off the front door easy enough. Sam just hoped no one in this neighbourhood would bother calling the cops on them.

Despite wanting to scope the place out first, Sam did understand Tony’s inclination to barrel up the stairs at full speed…though it would have been nice if he took it easy on the rotting steps. The last thing they needed was one of them falling through the staircase that already looked on the verge of collapse.

“Kid?!” Tony yelled into the empty rooms. The silence filled the space with a sense of dread, banishing any lingering hope they may have been holding onto that this was all just a misunderstanding.

( _Maybe he stayed late to finish a school project. Maybe he ran into another friend and lost track of time. Maybe he forgot to text May, maybe he assumed she’d still be at work, maybe his phone died before he got the chance, maybe, maybe, maybe-_ )

Each scenario grew less likely with each step they took.

“If the tracker in his phone is accurate, and it damn well _should_ be, he’s in that room,” Tony muttered, but Bucky placed a hand on his arm before he could barrel straight into the room.

“I’m going in there, Barnes.” Irritation crept into his voice, but he made no move to force his way past the assassin.

“Let me go first? Just in case?”

Tony didn’t look to happy with that idea, but he didn’t actively oppose it. The closest thing you could get to an agreement where Stark was involved.

Bucky approached the door with his back pushed flush against the wall. If Sam had to guess, he would have said it had once been the front door to someone’s apartment. The door had long since been kicked in, Bucky only had to give it a light shove for it to creak open. From here, Sam could see streaks of light filtering in through the boarded up windows – most likely from the streetlight just outside. Barnes held up a hand, palm open to indicate they should hold back before he disappeared into the room. Beside Sam cursed.

“The room’s clear,” he called out after a moment, though he didn’t return empty-handed. Sam’s heart sank as he took in the sight of the kid’s backpack.

“I’m telling you, he’s in there,” Tony insisted, irritation creeping into his voice.

“Wait,” Sam said as Tony stormed off towards the apartment. “Maybe we should-”

Tony didn’t wait around long enough to hear the end of the suggestion.

“FRIDAY, try calling the kid’s phone again.”

The phone was in the building, the kid had to be too. He _had_ to be…

The obnoxious ringtone (Tony _told_ the kid to change the damn thing) sounded close by, even muffled by the paperthin walls.

“Is it in one of the neighbouring rooms?” he asked with a frown. FRIDAY _said_ it was in here. While standard GPS may have allowed for that kind of margin of error, he modified the kid’s Starkphone himself.

“ _You’ve got the right apartment, boss. I’m positive._ ”

“I think it’s coming from in here,” Bucky murmured. Tony whipped around to find him crouching by a thin closet door, hands hovering an inch above the wood as if wary to touch it.

Stark crossed the room and threw the doors open without hesitation…only to find it empty.

“FRIDAY, call the phone again.”

This time, there was no mistaking it. The phone sounded directly above his head. In the darkness, Tony could only just make out a silhouette. He scrambled for his own phone, flicking on the torch and biting back another string of curses as it lit up the space.

“Stark? Have you-? Oh God…”

The sight reminded Tony of a dying spider, drawing in on itself to form a ball so tight it seemed to eager to collapse in on itself. Peter’s limbs contorted at odd angles as he found himself caught between the desire to make himself as small as possible whilst maintaining his position in the corner of the closet ceiling. The light of the torch only served to exaggerate his drawn features and sickly pale skin.

“Kid?” he whispered but failed to receive so much as a twitch in response. Even making out the rise and fall of his chest proved a challenge. If not for the fact that he was still sticking to the walls…

“We need to get him out of here,” Bucky said, his face grim. “I think he’s hypothermic.”

Despite the noise and sudden presence of light, the kid didn’t stir. Tony and Barnes leapt into action, gently prying his frozen fingertips away from the walls. The already crumbling plaster made it go a little faster. In the meantime, Sam tried to catalogue his symptoms as best he could in the limited light. He almost gave himself a heart attack trying to find the kid’s pulse. So weak beneath his ice cold skin that, for one terrifying moment, Sam thought he might be dead.

With FRIDAY’s help he managed to get a read on his vitals. With breathing so shallow Sam couldn’t even _see_ the rise and fall of his chest and a heart rate of around 30 beats per minute and dropping, it became apparent this wouldn’t be a straightforward.

_Thank God Stark let Barnes come along_ , Sam thought as the assassin finally pried the kid away from the corner of the ceiling, making use of his enhanced strength to ensure he didn’t fall. Meanwhile, Stark was already on the phone with the on-call medical team.

“Hang in there, kid,” Sam muttered.

When they made it out the front door, the car was still pulled up to the curb. It seemed, with regards to the traffic wardens at least, luck was on their side.

A chill ran up Sam’s spine when they walked under a streetlight – one that had absolutely nothing to do with the biting chill in the air. The kid remained motionless, limp and lifeless as a corpse in Bucky’s arms with a ghostly complexion to match. Throughout the commotion his eyes remained closed, chapped lips parted in a startling shade of blue.

There was something so _wrong_ about seeing a hero who faced armed criminals with what amounted to glorified duct tape and a witty retort so…helpless.

Ignoring Clint’s urgent questioning, Tony all but sprinted to the boot of the car. The Iron Man armour never failed to impress as it assembled, faceplate dropping into place before anyone could fully comprehend it.

“Give him here,” he said, voice harsh and mechanical as it filtered through the modulator. “I’ll be faster by air.”

Barnes didn’t hesitate to transfer the kid into his waiting arms, but Sam stepped in before he could take off.

“Hold on a second, Stark. If it’s the cold that’s causing this, the _last_ thing he needs is to be blasted with high altitude wind chill.”

“We need to get him medical attention, _now_.”

“ _Boss, if I may?_ ” FRIDAY interrupted. “ _Since leaving the building, his heart rate has dropped to 24 beats per minute. His core body temperature is already approaching levels which would normally be considered fatal. I’m unsure if he would be able to survive an extended flight, especially when the medical teams are not yet prepared to accept him when you arrive._ ”

For all his stubbornness, Tony knew how to assess a situation. With the information laid out in front of him so plainly, it didn’t take him much more than a second of deliberation to come to a conclusion.

“Get in.”

The pair wasted no time in following the instruction, Bucky climbing into the passenger seat while Sam joined Tony in the back. Neither commented when the billionaire left the suit – faceplate included – in place.

“Step on it, Barton.”

Clint only needed to glance at Peter in the rear view mirror for an explanation.

“Barnes,” Tony snapped. “Check under your seat, there should be an emergency kit with blankets inside.”

The assassin didn’t hesitate to follow the order, though it was less of a “kit” and more the kind of duffel you might expect to find in the garage of an extreme survivalist. As Bucky rummaged around inside of it, Sam caught sight of a water purifier, spare clothes, protein bars, glow sticks, and a series of complicated looking devices he couldn’t begin to try and identify. Finally, Barnes pulled out a small pouch which, according to the label plastered on the side, somehow contained a folded up space blanket.

“Hold on, kid,” Tony murmured as he wrapped the kid up in the silver foil. “Just a little while longer.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was I supposed to split this into multiple chapters? Probably not. Am I doing it anyway? Absolutely.

Peter came to slowly. Consciousness slipped out of his grasp time and time again, offering tantalising glimpses of the chaos unfolding around him.

Part of him protested at being jostled like this so soon after finding a suitable shelter. They stole him away from the quiet and the dark, exposing him dazzling lights that hurt even behind closed eyelids. The noise came in bouts, always too deafening and uncoordinated to process.

He was _tired_. So tired it made his very bones ache. It made it hard to latch onto the voices that begged him to wake up, but he still fought to open his eyes when he heard his name. He couldn’t count how many attempts it took before he managed to rouse himself long enough to _look_.

The contrast almost took his breath away, not difficult given how laboured his breathing had become. So perfect and pristine compared to the mouldy wallpaper and crumbling plaster he drifted off surrounded by. The strong scents of fabric softener and antiseptic made him want to sneeze.

Only when he tried to turn his head did he become aware of the stiffness in his limbs, as if his muscles had seized in place. Even the simple act of uncurling his fingers felt like breaking through solid rock.

It hurt.

He felt _cold_.

Peter’s eyelids fluttered as he struggled to stay awake. In the end, he had no choice but to succumb to sleep.

xxx

The next time he managed to fight his way to consciousness, he felt miles better. To such a degree he had to search for some indication of how long he’d been asleep. If the walk home had been hazy, everything that followed was pitch black. No sense of where, no sense of when.

A whine escaped his when he caught sight of the IV line going _into his arm_. He never really thought of himself as being afraid of needles, but the sight of it made him cringe back into the soft pillow propping him up.

“ _Mr Parker,_ ” FRIDAY greeted, and was it his imagination or did she sound quieter than normal? “ _How are you feeling?_ ”

“FRI-“ the syllable scraped against his bone dry throat. He struggled to sit up when the coughing fit drowned out his attempt to speak, but his arms weren’t co-operating.

“ _There is water on a tray about two feet from your left hand,_ ” she provided, voice still soft despite its sense of urgency.

“Th-thanks,” he choked out between harsh gasps, fumbling blindly for the cup of water and almost knocking over a jug in the process. It took all of his self-restraint to limit himself to a sip. It proved to be the right decision when even that proved a struggle. He fought back a wince when his throat contracted painfully, instead forcing himself to take another sip.

“FRIDAY,” he croaked. “The…the lights, c-can you-“

The AI didn’t give him the chance to try and scramble together the words to finish his request. He let out an involuntary sigh as the harsh glare tapered down to a soft glow.

Peter didn’t even notice when his eyes grew heavy and his thoughts began to drift-

His eyes snapped open (when did he close them?) and a choked sound escaped his throat when he found he was no longer alone.

“Mis’er Stark?” he slurred.

Tony stiffened, tossing aside the tablet he’d been working on. “Kid? Are you really awake this time?”

Peter didn’t know what he meant by “ _this time_ ”, but he had a sense it wasn’t anything good.

“Hey, hold up there!” Tony said, scrambling to his feet as Peter struggled to sit upright. “Jesus, kid. You’re supposed to be taking it easy!”

Peter narrowed his eyes at the chair he swore hadn’t been there a second ago. Everything still seemed foggy, but his alarm forced his brain back into gear. “How…how long have I been asleep?”

He knew the answer couldn’t be good when Tony’s teeth clicked together, something in his expression saying he wished he didn’t have to be the one to answer the question.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “I was at…the library? Missed my bus and then…” He shook his head.

Tony seemed to find this news concerning. “I got a call from your aunt when she got home from work and you weren’t there. She was worried you’d gone out patrolling-“

“I didn’t!”

“She knows, kid. Suit was still in your closet. Lucky for you, your phone was actually charged for once.”

“But…what happened? I-I don’t remember being attacked or-“

“You weren’t attacked, kiddo. At least, not by a supervillain if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Then what-“

The swish of the electronic doors interrupted his line of thought.

“Doctor Cho,” Tony said with some relief, but her attention seemed to be focused solely on Peter.

“How are you feeling, Mr Parker?” she asked.

“Um, fine?” The cogs began to turn in Peter’s still sluggish brain; he wondered why the reality of his situation hadn’t sunk in before. Waking up in the Compound’s medical bay with an IV in his arm, a world class geneticist dropping in to check on him. “Am I…am I sick?”

Doctor Cho and Tony exchanged a look and the blood drained from Peter’s already pale face.

“You’ll be alright,” Tony cut in hastily, but Peter didn’t like the way he phrased the answer. Future tense, implying he _wasn’t_ fine _now_.

Seeing the panic in his expression, the doctor moved to stand at the foot of his bed and offered a comforting smile. “Why don’t I explain from the beginning?”

She looked so at ease – far too relaxed to be breaking any sort of devastating news. The panic subsided a little and Peter nodded, inching back under the thick duvet (the detergent smelled like vanilla).

Her voice never wavered, that constant note of quiet reassurance helping to ease the tension in his muscles. “When I analysed your blood samples in my lab, I realised there were a few changes from last time. Small alterations, nothing drastic, but noticeable when I compared the readings to older samples.

“When you received your abilities, your DNA was _drastically_ altered. Fortunately for you, a great many of the newly implanted genes were never activated. If they had been…Well, things may have turned out quite differently for you. Though I didn’t understand _why_ at the time, I can now say with some confidence that the sudden drop in temperature has activated some of these dormant genes.”

“But I don’t _think_ I unlocked any new abilities,” Peter said with a frown. “When I was outside training, I just got…dizzy.”

“Do you know what happens to spiders during the winter, Peter?”

“Um, they die?”

Doctor Cho smiled. “Many do, but it seems the spider that bit you was not one such species. You see, spiders lack the ability to regulate their internal body temperature. When a human gets cold, we shiver to generate heat and, in extreme cases, allow extremities to die to prioritise essential organs. Spiders, on the other hand, adjust to _survive_ the sudden drop in body temperature rather than trying to offset it. Glycol compounds begin to accumulate to prevent particles of ice from forming in their hemolymph or, in your case, blood. This natural anti-freeze allows them to lower the freezing point of their body, at which point most species will seek out an appropriate place to hibernate until the temperature begins to rise in the spring. As far as we can tell, the cold triggered a similar response in _you_. Instead of responding to the cold by shivering to maintain your core temperature and work through the cold, your body worked to reduce its own freezing point and began to shut down in anticipation of entering hibernation. Your metabolism, respiratory rate, even your heart rate began to dramatically decrease.”

Peter blinked. Despite the urgency of what she was saying, his sleep addled brain struggled to make sense of it. “I’ve been… _hibernating_?”

“Fortunately, spiders slow the production of glycol when the temperature begins to rise in the summer…Unfortunately, this is normally a very _slow_ process. So far, I’ve been treating you largely in the same way I would a patient suffering from severe hypothermia. The warmed intravenous fluid seems to be working quite well.”

At the mention of it, Peter’s eyes flickered back towards the IV.

“How…how slow are we talking, exactly?” he asked, the panic beginning to creep back into his voice. “How long have I _been_ here?”

Doctor Cho and Tony exchanged another look. “This will be your fifth day in my care, Mr Parker, but please-“

Peter didn’t hear anything else she said after that. _Five days_. Five _DAYS_. Without thinking, he tried to force himself upright on still shaking limbs.

“Kid! Take it _easy_.” Peter didn’t track his movement, but in a second Tony was beside him. He didn’t try to force him back, but the gentle hand on his shoulder made it clear he wanted to.

“I-I need to see May. _God_ , she must be freaking out right now!”

“Your aunt’s fine, underoos. She was a bit freaked when you didn’t come home that night – delete your voicemail by the way – but she knows you’re okay. Barely left your side since you got here, but she was called back to work yesterday. Kicking and screaming, may I add. I offered to buy the company she works for, but she didn’t go for it.”

The panic ebbed as quickly as it had washed over him, leaving him even more drawn out than before. His trembling arms gave out and he collapsed back onto the soft mattress.

“Thanks, Mister Stark,” Peter said, though he wasn’t entirely sure _what_ he was thanking him for. A look of surprise crossed the billionaire’s face, and Peter couldn’t help but smile as he drifted back off to sleep.

On some distant level, he registered Tony asking if that was normal in a tone Peter knew by now meant he was trying not to panic. He didn’t catch Cho’s response, but it was soft and reassuring.

Sleep was okay, good to know.

Someone pulled up the heated blanket to cover his arms (when did they get so _cold_?). This time he drifted off into a more natural sleep rather than a fit of cold unconsciousness, content in the knowledge that his mentor would still be there when he woke up.

xxx

“Mr Staaaaaark,” Peter whined.

“Doctor’s orders. I change the colour to blue.”

Peter huffed and threw down another card. “I feel fine, Mr Stark. Really!”

Tony stared him down until he began to squirm. “Okay, maybe I’m still a _little_ cold, but it’s not that bad-”

“I seem to recall you saying something similar when you almost passed out in training,” Tony pointed out, laying down a +2 card that earned him a glare. “You can leave medical when you’re back to normal. That means temperature _and_ appetite- oh son of a-“

“Red,” Peter said, returning the dirty look Tony gave him with a grin.

“That was _vindictive_.”

“Uno.”

Tony sighed. “Pass.”

As predicted, Peter threw his last card on the pile and gestured with his now empty hands. “I win.”

“And with that, I’m going to put on a fresh pot of coffee…assuming Barton hasn’t cleared us out. You want more tea?”

“Sure, you up for a rematch when you get back?”

“I’ll insist upon it.”

Peter returned the cards to the deck and shuffled, but it could only hold his interest for so long. After days of sleeping, he was quickly growing bored with the limited entertainment available in the medical bay.

A knock on the door made him pause. The doors were automated, and Doctor Cho and Tony never bothered to knock which meant…

The doors opened and Bucky peered around the corner as if afraid of getting caught somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be.

“Sergeant Barnes?” Peter asked, trying not to dwell on the fact that he was greeting the Winter Soldier in his _pyjamas_.

“Oh for the love of- _Go_ ,” a voice said from out in the hall and Bucky staggered inside as if pushed. Sam followed him inside, rolling his eyes at the assassin even as he offered Peter a wave.

“I was worried you’d be asleep.” Bucky avoided eye contact, instead fiddling with the lid of one of the plastic tubs from the communal kitchen. Peter sat up a little straighter when the smell reached him.

“Is that _soup_?”

“Well…I think Steve would classify it as a stew.” He hesitated before shaking his head. “I can’t really remember what he used to say the difference was…”

It occurred to Peter that he hadn’t been allowed many opportunities to interact with Barnes without Mr Stark present. Even with other Avengers present, he always found a reason to drag Peter away before they could start a proper conversation.

“Is it for me?” he asked. He felt a little guilty about distracting him when he looked so deep in thought, but the stew was making his mouth water. Despite insisting to Tony he wasn’t hungry less than an hour ago, the smell served as a reminder that he’d barely been able to stomach more than a quarter of his usual portions for over two weeks now.

_Doctor Cho did say my appetite should begin to return as I get better._

Bucky looked down at the tub in his hands as if he’d already forgotten bringing it. “You don’t have to eat it, I just…My mom made it for Steve, I think. When the idiot got pushed off the dock and caught a chill walking home, stupid punk.”

Something in his demeanour changed when he said it, some of the stiffness easing in his posture and the furrow in his brow smoothing out. Peter even thought he caught the soft tang of a long-forgotten Brooklyn accent breaking into his speech. Shaking his head, Bucky set the tub down on the little table beside the hospital bed and turned on his heel. Too stunned to string together a response, Peter watched him leave the room without a second glance.

“Thanks?” he said, but Barnes was already gone.

If not for the still sealed tub on the table to his left, Peter may have wondered if he’d imagined the encounter. “Is he…okay?”

Sam had stayed unusually quiet throughout the visit. Peter allowed himself to wonder if he came more for Bucky’s benefit than for his.

“He has good days and bad days,” he replied with a shrug. “It can be hard to tell which is which sometimes. Being bombarded by painful memories isn’t an outcome most people _want_ from therapy, but given the alternative is remembering nothing at all…”

He shrugged again. “I know which one he prefers. He’s getting better at keeping things straight in his head, at least.”

Peter looked back at the soup and tried not to think about what it must be like to fight to preserve the memories of the people closest to you. The terrifying prospect that someone could _take_ those experiences by force and leave you with an empty shell.

Sam crossed the room and took the lid off the container, the smell immediately filling the room.

“Thanks,” Peter muttered. Thankfully, Bucky thought to include a spoon. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Knock yourself out.”

“Were you two waiting for Mr Stark to leave first?”

Sam winced. “Like I said, Bucky has good days and bad days. He’s…remembering a lot today. Putting him in a room with Stark wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Oh…”

The soup tasted peppery, still hot enough that he almost burned his tongue on the first bite. Peter couldn’t remember the last time someone had cooked a meal like this for him (though he could count at least a dozen occasions on which May had _tried_ ).

“Good?”

“Very. Will you tell him thanks for me?”

“Tell him yourself.”

Peter’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Is he coming back?”

“More like we’re going to meet him.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Wilson, I can’t. Doctor Cho says I’m not allowed to get out of bed yet.” It felt almost embarrassing to admit, but Sam only raised an eyebrow.

“Actually, the good doctor’s _exact_ instructions were for you to stay off your feet and under all those heated blankets. There’s nothing to say you can’t leave the medical bay.”

As if on cue, the doors slid open once again and Clint strolled in with a mischievous grin that should inspire worry in anyone who knew him. Behind him, he dragged a wheelchair.

Peter’s eyes widened. “Seriously? You’re breaking me out of here?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Clint said, and Peter made a mental note to ask about _that_ later.

“Alright.” Peter broke into a matching grin. “How fast do you think you can make that thing go?”

“Only one way to find out.”

xxx

Tony paused his search as a great _whoop_ of laughter reached him from the hall, accompanied by the sound of pounding feet.

“FRIDAY?” he asked sweetly. “What was that?”

The AI allowed an uncharacteristic pause before answering the question. “ _I believe a few of your teammates have taken it upon themselves to provide Mr Parker with a change of scenery._ ”

“And you didn’t tell me about this because…?”

Another pause. “ _You asked me to inform you if Peter tried to disregard Doctor Cho’s recommendations, boss. As far as I can tell, the Rogues have found a loophole_.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did _you_ know about this?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Natasha replied. “By the way, I noticed you haven’t searched the cabinet to your left, yet.”

“That’s where Pep keeps the mixing bowls, why the hell would-?”

He shot Natasha a dirty look as he emerged with the coffee filters in hand. “You knew they were there the _whole time_?”

“I merely made a suggestion.”

“You were _distracting_ me,” he accused.

“I haven’t moved since you walked in,” Natasha remined him, taking a pointed sip from her mug.

“You’re in on it!”

“You’re getting paranoid in your old age.”

xxx

“Uhhh.”

Peter peered at Tony over the edge of his duvet. “I was kidnapped?”

“Traitor!” Clint shrieked.

Tony took in the sight of the mountain of blankets that had once been a couch, the only parts of the kid even visible being his pleading eyes, outlined by fluffy hair still sticking up in all directions, and a hand clutching what looked like a soup container.

On the opposite couch, Clint and Sam waited for his reaction.

“What are you watching?” he asked with an unreadable expression.

“Episode IV?” Peter offered. “Clint promised to share his popcorn stash.”

Barton let out a squawk of protest and Tony accepted defeat. “Budge up, kid. You don’t need an entire couch to yourself.”

Immediately Peter scrambled to make room for the billionaire among the heaps of blankets. Just sitting in the vicinity of all those heat pads made Tony break into a sweat, but he refrained from commenting when he saw how content the kid looked. He also didn’t ask where the soup came from, quietly thankful to see him eat at all after his sudden loss of appetite.

The opening music swelled, and Peter’s eyes fixed on the screen. Tony wondered how many times he must have watched this movie by now.

Clint, on the other hand, spent most of the runtime questioning every mundane detail of the lore, including a twenty minute conversation about the correct way to change your identity and flee the country ( _lesson one, kid. Don’t_ keep _your God damn_ surname).

Though she would never admit to enjoying it, Natasha appeared just before they could launch their rescue attempt to save Princess Leia. She didn’t offer the movie much more than the occasional glance over the top of her book, but Peter would have sworn he saw her mouth along to a few of Leia’s lines.

No one had the heart to wake Peter when he drifted off before the attack on the Death Star, but no one moved when Empire Strikes Back started playing either. Tony ignored the looks he got when he pried the empty mug from Peter’s fingers, setting it down on the coffee table and adjusting the pillow under his head so he could lie more comfortably.

“I’ve got to hand it to you, Tony,” Sam commented. “Being a mentor suits you.”

Clint snickered, but Tony found himself smiling all the same.

“Yeah, I think it does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all have a wonderful day (but especially you stark-illustrates)

**Author's Note:**

> I know this likely isn't exactly what you had in mind when you wrote the prompt, but I hope you had some fun with this train wreck all the same!


End file.
